


A Love Like A Wound

by orphan_account



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Assassin!AU, Fake relationship becomes real, Fluff, Graphic Violence, M/M, Mainly coliver but a lil bit of laurel/michaela, Smut, Swearing, The Keating 5 and Keating associates are assassins, multi-chapter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-05-11 12:47:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5627170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Connor is assigned a new target - Oliver Hampton. Being one of the best assassins in the country, Connor is certain he's ideal for the job. That is, until he meets Oliver, and develops some doubts.</p><p>(Assassin!AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've seen the prompt about "person a being an assassin told to go after person b, but they fall in love etc" quite a few times, and decided to do a multi-chaptered fic about it, with quite a few alterations. This fic is going to be quite violent/graphic at times, so please be careful if you're uncomfortable with that <3
> 
> Hope you enjoy! Tell me what you think in the comments :) 
> 
> (Unbeta'd)

Connor let his arm drop, the gold trophy heavy in his gloved hand. Thick blood dripped from it slowly on to the rug, next to the now-dead man's head. _Fantastic_ , thought Connor. _More mess to clean up_.

He set the trophy on the floor next to Sam Keating's head. It made a dull, quiet thud. 

Of course, Connor wasn't too pleased with the job he'd just performed. It had been sloppy, rushed. His attempt to take out Keating without any warning failed, and he'd been forced to brutally smash in the target's head with the nearest heavy object. Keating had made the mistake of fighting back. That just made the whole process so much more _tedious_.

After rolling up the corpse in the rug, Connor quickly cleaned up the residual blood, warm in contrast to the stone-cold floor. 

He swiftly carried the body out into the inky black forest to dispose of it. The compact, icy ground made it difficult, but he knew the job needed to be completed. Especially this job. Annalise had made it explicitly clear that her husband was a special case, and needed to be taken care of without a single trace left to be threaded back to her. That's why Connor had been sent.

After packing the earth securely over his boss' husband, Connor peeled off his gloves and checked his watch. **11:37pm**. Perfect. Plenty of time left to check in with work, and then find a bar and pick up some drunk, desperate guy to keep him busy for the night.

~~~

The ghostly lights flickered almost rhythmically over his head, a pattern Connor's eyes were overly familiar with. The outer shell of the building appeared to the public as a dull law firm: Keating Associates. It was designed to be unappealing to the public eye, so as to not draw in clients. Not that type of client, anyway. The inner layers of the building, however, were home to the secret business Annalise ran. Assassins, fighters and expert killers of all variations worked under her, exchanging money from vengeful clients for the lives of the people who'd wronged them. The eerie lights didn't do much to brighten up a place where business only equated to death.

Just as he had millions of times, Connor strode through the cold corridors, all of which led to the same solid black door. The name Annalise Keating was emblazoned on a golden plaque, staring him boldly in the eyes.

The clear voice rang out though the door. "Come in, Walsh."

He hadn't even begun to knock yet.

As he entered, Annalise Keating turned to face him where she was standing. Her stony gaze met his. Even as she leant casually against her desk, she emanated power. She stood like she knew her place; above everybody else. It never failed to make Connor's hands quake.

"Finished?" She stated more than asked. The blunt word came out in almost a bored tone, as though she hadn't just asked him if he'd successfully ended her husband's life.

"Done. There were a few primary altercations when it came to the actual task, but the coverup ran smoothly," Connor replied, nothing but factual; he knew the drill here.

"Excellent. You'll receive your payment within the next week," Annalise said, already turning away from him. Connor acknowledged her silent dismissal, and left his boss' office.

He was beginning to contemplate what bar was closest, when he rounded a corner and crashed straight into a person. Two people, actually, he realised, when he bounced back. His head was still ringing with the impact, but he could clearly make out the two figures in front of him. They were dressed in subtly camouflaged black attire, just like him. 

"Castillo. Millstone," Connor stated, already moving to get past them.

Laurel stopped him with a hand to his chest. "Wait, I wanted to talk to you, Walsh."

Connor sighed. Laurel was clever, calculating, discreet - everything that made up the perfect assassin. That's why she'd been the first person taken into training with Annalise. After Connor, of course. Her only issue was that she could sometimes appear too sympathetic - a flaw Connor was proud to have never possessed.

"Talk about what?"

Asher laughed, tilting his head back obnoxiously. Asher Millstone was everything an assassin trained not to be. Clumsy, idiotic, unreliable. His laugh raked across Connor's eardrums, making it very hard for Connor not to break his jaw right then.

"What do you think? Literally everyone's been talking about it. Who's gonna be given the legendary case #4417?" Asher said all of this with his lips drawn back in a gloating grin, the last sentence coming out in a mocking drawl. Connor gritted his teeth, and tried to talk before he knocked the other man out.

"What case is that? I've been out on a special task for Annalise."

Laurel sighed and pushed in between the two men. "Okay, we get it, you got to kill her cheating dick of a husband. The case he's talking about is one that Frank announced a couple of hours ago. It's supposed to be extremely high-profile, so only the best are up for the job. Which is why you, me, Pratt, Gibbons and for some reason this douche," she gestured loosely to Asher behind her, who took on an affronted expression, "are supposed to meet in the Conference Room in five."

She must have noticed the slight crease in Connor's eyebrows, because the next words coming out of her mouth were tinged with sympathy. "Oh, you mustn't of been told. At least you know now."

They moved past Connor, Asher nudging him a little too aggressively as they passed. He was still wearing that stupid grin. So Connor gave him a sharp elbow to his back, wiping the smile away, and putting one on Connor's face.

Still smiling, Connor spun on his heel and followed the two on their path.

They strolled through the silent maze of identical walls, finally coming to a plain grey door, marked as the Conference Room.

Inside, Annalise's two closest associates - Bonnie and Frank - stood sternly at the head of the table. Frank had an expressionless face, that somehow matched his reputation for being particularly heartless with his tactics. Bonnie was more apt with sly methods, suffocation being her favourite. Connor's personal speciality was poisons. They allowed him to do the job without too much fuss and unnecessary floundering.

Annalise's top five were now present, along with two of the best killers around. This had to be the deadliest room of assassins imaginable. Asher went to sit down, but missed the chair when Connor pulled it out from under him. He fell unceremoniously on his ass.

Eyes rolling, Bonnie began talking. "Okay, so now all five idiots are present, we can begin."  
She gestured to the glowing board behind her. It read, in simple black block letters against a white background, **CASE #4417**.

Next to Connor, Asher rubbed his hands together like some crappy cartoon villain. On the other side of him sat Michaela Pratt, who caught Connor's eyes and raised her eyebrows at Asher's moronic behaviour. Connor just shook his head dejectedly. 

Laurel had taken her designated seat next to Pratt. The two had begun dating recently, unbeknownst to Annalise and the higher ups. It was technically against the rules, which for an illegal secret assassin agency, was an odd thing to be uptight about. Laurel and Michaela knew how to be conspicuous though. At least, they usually did. Right now Connor could see their linked hands and flirtatious smiles from the other side of the table.

To Connor's left sat Wes Gibbons. He was quiet and subdued, listening with crossed arms to what Bonnie was saying. He was a good assassin - almost at Connor and Laurel's level - but like Michaela, he was yet to get complete approval from the bosses.

Connor tuned out Frank's flat voice, which was currently going through the standard rules on how to get the job done cleanly and efficiently. He'd heard it all before. He didn't need this high-profile case - he was already in charge of most of Annalise's top cases. His eyes dropped to the dried blood under the nail of his right index finger. Connor frowned as he tried to scrub it away. When the blood wouldn't budge, he lifted his hand to his face for closer inspection. Asher chose this moment to nudge his arm, prompting Connor to smack his own face. 

With a vicious glare, Connor kicked Asher's leg forcefully, earning a pained yowl. Asher gripped his leg and tried to explain his action. "Dude, I was just tryna say that this guy's totally your type, you should.."

Connor waved a hand at him to shut up as he turned to the board, only now seeing the images there. It was covered in pictures of a young Asian man, all taken at different locations from varying angles. He wore glasses in some, whereas others allowed a view of the man's cheerful brown eyes. 

Connor's gaze danced over the pictures, entranced by the attractive man's features. Most of the images were obviously candids, taken through windows or from across the street when the photographer was hidden. There were some pictures with friends, but in the majority of them, the man wasn't smiling or was hidden behind a drink or someone else's shoulder. _He's evidently not a confident_ , Connor thought, though he couldn't understand why. He couldn't quite drag his eyes from the pictures, not paying attention to Frank for a whole new reason now. 

A small image in the bottom left corner of the screen caught his eye. The man was standing on the beach, shirtless, tanned skin radiant in the sun. But what Connor was staring at was his smile. He had a beautiful smile - the kind that made his whole face glow, outshining the rest of the pictures.

Connor forced himself to listen to what Bonnie was now saying, purely to learn about the owner of the enchanting smile on the screen.

He cut her off when he realised she was talking about payment terms. "So this is our client? Who does he want dead? Surely he can't have many enemies, look at him."

Bonnie crossed her arms with an exhausted demeanour. "This isn't our client, Walsh." Connor's back straightened immediately. That meant that the man was--

"He's our target."

Connor slouched. "Are you serious? He's gorgeous. That's not even fair."

"We all know that physical attraction does not influence the job we're being paid to do," Bonnie replied simply, turning to the table behind her to pick up a stack of beige files. She handed them out to each individual seated at the table.

Printed in stout black letters, in the top right corner, was the name Oliver Hampton. Connor opened it to see sheets of information neatly tucked in. A date of birth. Occupation. Family. He checked the last sheet and saw the large picture placed to help identify the target. As he'd expected, it was the man from the board. 

He scanned quickly over the information at the front again, eyes darting to the page which stated the terms of his assassination. Whoever wanted him dead, wanted him to suffer, that was clear. The client had requested Annalise's best assassin to befriend Oliver Hampton over a long period of time, to then bring him a painful end just when Oliver thought they were close. The client had even enclosed a note to be given to Oliver when the time for his death arrived. Delightful.

"Okay, so who wants the job? It'll take a while, months even. This isn't an ordinary job. But the client is as rich as it gets, and wants one of the best. So, that's one of you," Frank announced.

The five assassins started debating with each other. From what he gathered, nobody was too keen on a job that would last so long - nobody had ever been after one target for that amount of time, it'd be hard to maintain the facade - and yet, it paid a lot.

Connor cut off the debate sharply. "I'll do it."

Everyone collectively silenced, then turned to him. 

"You volunteer?" Bonnie asked.

"Yeah. Clearly nobody else here has is in them to take on such an extensive job. I don't mind. Mr. Hampton looks like he could be quite fun," Connor said with a sly smirk.

Frank frowned at him. "Your job isn't to screw the target, it's to kill him."

Bonnie nodded. "The client only requires that you befriend him before the assassination - no 'fun' involved." 

"The client wants this to be as painful as possible for the target, right? Surely it would hurt so much more if I started dating him, we fell in love, then I killed him." Connor plucked the picture of Oliver from the file and held it next to his face. "You gotta admit we look good together."

Bonnie muttered something to Frank, to which he responded with a single nod.

"Okay, Walsh. The job's yours. Don't mess it up. There's big money in this one, not just for you," Frank said. 

Connor got up to leave with the rest of the five, smug grin plastered on his face. When he left the building that afternoon, he had all the starter information available on one Oliver Hampton. He decided it was time to do some digging.

~~~

The watch on his wrist read **1:22am** when Connor finally reached his door. He walked in to the dimly lit, lavish apartment, setting down his bag and peeling off his coat. The floor to ceiling window completing one wall of his apartment displayed the dark outline of Philadelphia. Faint lights from the streets outside cast a glow across the leather couches and his 65" television. 

Connor smirked into the shadows. Maybe once this job was done, he'd be able to afford to indoor jacuzzi he'd wanted for awhile.

As he walked into his bedroom, he tried to recall the reason he'd actually taken the job.

It definitely wasn't ideal. The paycheque at the end certainly gave it more appeal, but in Connor's line of work, the requirements were just too frivolous. Perfect assassinations often consisted of quick, easy take-outs. Barely any research was needed beforehand. 

But this? This would take months. Connor would have to be clever about this; he couldn't just spike the target's food with some aconite powder and leave him to die. He'd have to get to know Oliver Hampton. He'd have to become familiar with his patterns, his personality, his weaknesses and strengths. He'd have to calculate the most malicious way to assassinate him.

Connor changed out of his clothes and put on a pair of loose tracksuit bottoms, not bothering with a shirt. He plopped into his snobbishly extravagant bed and opened the file, arranging the sheets of information and pictures out in front of him. He began to read.

The first thing he gathered was that Oliver Hampton was one hell of a hacker. He had numerous accounts of computer hacking listed, almost all of which were illegal. But he'd never been imprisoned, or even arrested. This man was good. 

The client Connor was now working for - the one who wanted Oliver to die a painful death - had been a victim of such hacking. The file stated that the client had known Oliver, until he sued the company Oliver worked at for a minor injury and won. Then Oliver had been employed to delve into his computer history and discovered the fraud, exposing the crime and losing the client millions, as well as his wife, who left him when she heard of the whole situation. Apparently, that was enough for the client to issue a violent death wish for Oliver.

The rest of the files listed all of Oliver's personal details; address, number, everything. It had all of his legal accounts and specifics. Everything Connor would need to pick apart his life piece by piece. Fortunately for Oliver, that wasn't Connor's job.

He'd need to dig further into Oliver's life. In order to get as close to the target as possible, he'd have to find out every personal detail he could uncover. That way, it'd be easier to track down and seduce Oliver when Connor began work.

Considering it was late - and a Tuesday night - Connor figured Oliver wouldn't be out. Besides, they lived about 40 minutes apart. Connor settled for doing at home research to start with. 

He grabbed his laptop and pulled up Oliver's Facebook page. He plugged in a small silver USB stick, which he'd been given by someone from Tech at work. After a few seconds, the screen glitched and broke into blackened sections, before pulling back together with lists of coding pacing across the screen. It allowed him to sift through Oliver's internet traces with ease. 

Connor examined sites Oliver had recently visited, credit purchases he'd made on his laptop in the last month, even barely noticeable evidence of Oliver's hacking endeavours. A whole, more personal side of Oliver opened up before him. He came across a small file labelled Photos. 

Opening it, Connor's screen filled with a couple hundred pictures. He scrolled through them, knowing that these could be fundamentally useful for his research, but only really looking for one thing. 

Hidden amongst holiday sunsets and family group pictures, Connor finally found it. He selected the picture and it enlarged to cover anything else on the screen. Connor smiled. 

The picture wasn't very good quality, but Oliver's smile still shone. Only his head and shoulders were visible, but Connor revelled in every delicious line of Oliver's jaw and neck. Black, rounded glasses framed his soft eyes perfectly, only making the rest of his tanned face more prominent. Connor minimised the picture to fit snugly into the corner of his screen while he continued his research.

After an hour of scrolling and noting,  
Connor's vision grew blurry with binary codes and file numbers. He went to pack away his laptop, but opened the picture of Oliver smiling one more time. Before he even realised what he was doing, an absentminded smile slipped onto his face. Quickly, he shut the laptop and pushed it away, before turning over and finally letting his eyes shut. He drifted to sleep, the image of gleaming smiles and black frames imprinted on the inside of his eyelids.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was in no way intended to end up smutty, but that's coliver for ya. If this is terrible, blame the fact that I wrote this chapter at around 4am. Also, this is only the second time I've written smut. Don't have high expectations.
> 
> (Unbeta'd)

None of the silhouettes dotting the dark street belonged to Oliver. Connor checked the time once again, hands shaking from the chill air. Oliver was supposed to be meeting friends at this bar, but Connor hadn't seen him enter yet. The sparse streets were only illuminated by dim street-lamps, but Connor was familiar enough with his face to know he hadn't arrived.

Teeth chattering, Connor pulled out his phone to confirm this was the bar Oliver was meeting at. Before he could even type in the password, the phone was almost knocked out of his hand. Connor's head shot up to see a small group of gossiping adults moving past, too distracted to notice the rough nudges they were accidentally giving him. 

His foot instinctively struck out and caught one of the people in their step, making the man stumble. The man almost fell, but hands grabbed him at the last second. When the owner of the hands moved into became visible, Connor's breath hitched. It was Oliver.

He quickly dropped his head and dodged the last few people moving past. With one final glance to Oliver, who was now passing through the door to the bar, Connor walked around the corner and headed for the back entrance. He snuck in, unnoticed by the nearby waitress. 

Connor moved deftly between the crowded bodies. He was dressed in his finest black button up, with dark trousers and shoes. It wasn't difficult to merge with the indistinct swarm of people. Connor had also taken time to gel his hair and undo the top buttons of his shirt. Tonight, his sole focus was to catch Oliver's attention, and keep it. He had a few tricks planned in order to accomplish that particular feat.

Locating Oliver in the mass of people only took a few seconds. Connor's heart pulsed more defiantly, the adrenaline coursing through his veins with the thrill of what he was about to begin. 

Oliver was laughing; but his shoulders were still, and his eyes were dull. He wasn't enjoying himself. The friends smothering him were chatting insatiably, but none of them were paying attention to Oliver. He stood in the centre of the group without actually being a part of it, faking a smile every once in a while, hands clasped meekly. Connor could barely look.

The assassin pushed his way to the bar. Leaning against the counter leisurely, Connor gave a sly look over his shoulder, ensuring his gaze was set only on his target. Oliver caught his eyes and looked down almost immediately, reaching up to fidget with his glasses and disguise his flushing cheeks. Connor's smirk grew to a proud grin.

Music thumped. Voices battled to be heard. Connor waited. It wasn't long before he noticed Oliver excusing himself from his group and making his way towards the bar. Connor rolled his shoulders and turned to his right, where Oliver was now standing a few feet away. Connor flagged the bartender, who signalled he'd be a few minutes. 

Making sure to display his most seductive smirk, Connor approached Oliver. 

"I have a unique proposition," he purred. Oliver faced him with raised eyebrows, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"What's that?" His voice was timid, subdued. His eyes darted everywhere but Connor's face. His fingers fidgeted incessantly. Despite the smile, he was acting like he had no idea what to do with himself.

"I'll buy you a drink, and in return you'll allow me to save you from your incredibly ignorant friends. If you're okay with that, of course," Connor said, smiling with a friendlier attitude now. 

Oliver's shoulders shook with laughter. This time, the glimmer in his eyes was bright. Even behind the glasses, Connor could see the shine in his eyes that hadn't been present in the hundreds of pictures Connor had examined. Not even that one selfie Oliver had taken, the one with a wide smile, that Connor had printed and kept tucked in his wallet - for the mission. 

No, his eyes were something that could only be truly appreciated face to face. Connor stared at them, chewing his bottom lip softly, causing Oliver's laugh to slip into a giggle. 

"I appreciate it. It's probably a bad thing that a random guy in a bar is more willing to talk to me than my actual friends right?" Oliver had a bright voice, one that seemed to sound perpetually cheery. It didn't seem right for the happy tone to be matched with such deprecating words.

When Oliver saw Connor's slight frown, he started fumbling with his hands even more. "That probably sounds really sad - if you wanna stop talking to me now I'd --"

"Makers Manhattan?" 

Oliver looked shocked. His glasses had slipped down his nose slightly, with all the stuttering, but he appeared too surprised to fix them.

"Just because your friends can't appreciate you - which seems absurd, considering I like you a lot and I've only just met you - it doesn't mean I can't. My favourite drink, Makers Manhattan. You want one, or would you prefer something else?" Of course, Connor knew it was Oliver's favourite drink. It wasn't an original move - to pretend they had the same favourite drink so as to have something in common from the beginning. But Oliver would never know. Besides, Oliver's cheeks were once again growing pink, and the look was just too satisfactory for Connor to focus on much else.

Oliver spoke again, this time through a wide smile. "Makers Manhattan it is." 

~~~ 

Despite having studied almost every minor detail and feature of Oliver's look and personality previous to this night, Connor had never even had an idea of what the inside of his apartment looked like.

It occurred to him how laughably odd this was, but the thought was soon swept away as Connor was pushed against one of the walls of Oliver's bedroom. Oliver's frantic mouth moved down his neck, while Connor grasped at the other man's shirt buttons. The burning sensation of Oliver's lips on his skin - combined with the slight amount of alcohol pulsing through his system - was enough to make undressing a difficult task. Oliver stopped his actions for long enough to tug open Connor's collar, and work on his shirt buttons. 

Earlier that evening, when the two men had stumbled out of the bar in a tipsy state, Oliver had pulled Connor in by that same collar, and kissed him. His kiss was soft and syrupy, flavoured by alcohol-soaked cherries. It was as electrifying then as it was now, as Connor tugged him closer for another kiss.

Half-undressed, still fumbling over each other's clothes, they moved to the bed. Oliver dropped onto it, pulling Connor down on top of him, smiling when he joined their lips again. 

Connor stripped both of them of their remaining clothes as fast as he could with clumsy hands. His heart hammered in his ears, and every move he made was empowered with unusual excitement. He couldn't remember ever feeling this erratic while in bed with someone. It must be Oliver. No, surely it was the alcohol. Although he'd only had two drinks, same as Oliver...

Oliver's hips jutting to meet Connor's made the thought easy to dismiss. Connor replied by grinding back, mouth sucking a line down Oliver's neck. When he reached the curve of Oliver's shoulder, he sank his teeth in gently, sucking at the spot to make the love bite more prominent. The moans and incoherent mumbles slipping out of the other man's mouth sparked a surge in his chest, all the way to his already hard cock.

"God, your mouth is amazing," Oliver groaned absently. The rosy blush on his neck and cheeks didn't seem to be disappearing any time soon. Connor couldn't resist pressing a kiss to Oliver's flushed cheek before speaking.

"Turn over," Connor whispered, not sounding nearly as harsh as he did when he gave that instruction to other guys.

"Why?" Oliver's lips lifted into a coy smile. It was obvious he knew Connor was just as impatient as him.

Connor smirked, face millimetres away from Oliver's. "So I can use my amazing mouth, why else?"

Oliver's already wide pupils visibly dilated. His breaths fanned out over Connor's cheek, quick and sparse. He pressed his lips to Connor's once, twice. Once more. 

"I can't wait. I know you can't either," Oliver murmured. He trailed a finger lazily down the length of Connor's erection, prompting Connor to involuntarily thrust his hips into the touch. Oliver pulled his hand away, making Connor almost dizzy with the need for that feeling again. Damn, Oliver was _good_.

"Where do you keep condoms?" Connor said, almost breathless. 

"Drawer," Oliver said nodding to the drawers beside the bed. Connor quickly sat up to reach in and retrieve a condom, as well as the lube there. Oliver's nails traced lines down his back lightly, sparking fireworks through Connor's nerves.

Connor rolled on the condom, struggling due to Oliver's teeth distractingly grazing his earlobe. Before he could open the lube, Oliver grabbed it and coated Connor's cock with the cold substance. He smiled when Connor shivered and moaned. He then squeezed some out onto Connor's fingers. Connor took over from there and pressed one coated finger to Oliver's entrance. Oliver nodded, still grasping Connor's back. 

Connor pushed his finger in slowly, relishing Oliver's harsh exhale of breath. He hooked the tip of his finger, prompting the most delectable moan he'd ever heard. 

"M-more," Oliver stuttered, eyes shut in pleasure. Connor obliged happily, and added a second finger. He placed kisses down Oliver's cheek, by his ear, down his neck, as he pushed his fingers in and out slowly.

Connor had only just inserted a third finger when Oliver's breaths grew sharper.

"Ready, Connor," he gasped out.

Connor met Oliver's lips again as he lined himself up, then pushed in just the tip of his cock. Oliver's moans told him it was okay to push in further. Connor felt Oliver's hand twist in to his hair and pull, with a little force. Oliver's lips were on his again. Connor took his lower lip between his teeth, causing Oliver's hand to tighten.

Connor rolled his hips slowly, making sure Oliver had adjusted. He told himself to make it last - enjoy the moment - but his urges took over and he picked up the pace. 

"Fuck," Oliver whispered.

Connor locked their lips again, feeling the moans from Oliver with every thrust. He ran a hand through Oliver's hair, down his side, stopping at his thigh.

Oliver wrapped and arm around his middle and pressed them closer. Connor found Oliver's other hand with his own and linked them together. He soon hit Oliver's prostate, and continued to hit it, eliciting a string of curses from Oliver.

The other man's breaths grew faster, and Connor simultaneously felt a tightness in his stomach. He reached down with his free hand to pump Oliver's cock, in sync with his own thrusts, making Oliver arch his back and keen. 

After just a few more thrusts, Oliver came, clenching around Connor, bringing him to his climax too. Connor dropped his head onto Oliver's shoulder, breathing heavily, feeling the other man's chest rising and falling quickly beneath him as they both rode out their orgasm.

Connor brought his mouth close to Oliver's, still inhaling heavily. They kissed, slowly and leisurely, all breathless smiles and blissful sighs. Connor's mind was still high, caught in a post-sex haze, which was probably the reason for him whispering his next voice in a voice close to reverence.

"Talk about amazing."

~~~

The incessant buzz of Connor's phone woke him. He wasn't a heavy sleeper - a side effect of assassins training - but at the moment, he felt drained enough to sleep like a normal person. For once.

He could think of nothing worse than leaving the bed. Oliver lay next to him, sleeping peacefully, one arm draped over Connor's middle. Connor fought the ache to close his eyes and ignore the buzz, and got up to search for his phone.

He located the phone in his trousers, which had been haphazardly flung to the corner of the room. The screen was illuminated with Bonnie's name. Connor answered.

"Walsh?"

"Afternoon, Bonnie. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Don't give me that. You know you were supposed to call in with a progress report three hours ago." Crap. Connor had forgotten about that. 

"I, uh, I got caught up. Doing things."

"What things?"

Connor smirked. "Oliver."

"Are you serious?"

"When am I not?"

There was a pause, and Connor could practically see Bonnie rolling her eyes.

"Okay, doesn't matter. I assume you're making good progress then."

"You assume correctly. The target has been located, seduced, and _accomplished_."

He heard a dejected sigh.

"Don't get too attached. He'll be dead by the end of the year."

Connor glanced at Oliver, sleeping. Admired his smooth, toned body, not for the first time. He noticed the frames and art pieces peppered around the room; mere glimpses into the unique and individual life of Oliver Hampton. He decided not to tell Bonnie about the lingering feeling of guilt clinging to the back of his mind.

"You know I'd never do something so unprofessional," Connor said.

Then he hung up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr: makers-manhattan


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter (and the next few chapters) is more of a filler, purely because I need to obviously show the development of their relationship. Plus, coliver fluff is always fun to write. Feel free to let me know what you think so far!
> 
> (Unbeta'd)

_... Are you coming around again tonight?_

Connor smiled, then replied.

_Of course._

"Coooooon-damania!"

The chair Connor was sitting in spun around, facing him towards a grinning Asher.

"How's Hacker Boy been? Don't lie, you've been getting it owwwwwnn," Asher practically yelled, dragging out the last word whilst thrusting his hips into the air.

Connor's eyes rolled so far they hurt.

"Dear god. Leave me alone Asher," Connor groaned, turning his chair back around to prevent himself throwing his steaming hot coffee in Millstone's face.

"Come on. You think no one's noticing the massive grin you've been walking around with? Not to mention that you're literally sitting here texting him, with hearts beating out of your eyes." Asher waited for Connor to look up, and grabbed the phone out of his hands. Before Connor could even react, Asher had moved metres away, and was holding the device high. 

"Oh my god, you two are adorbz! 'I can't wait to come round again!' 'Last night was amazing, we should do that again'," Despite Connor's effort to snatch back his phone, Asher just kept dancing out of his reach. It was fortunate that the Conference Room was empty; nobody had arrived for the meeting yet except for Connor and Doucheface. 

"Oh my god! You've been sending each other naked pi--"

At that moment, Annalise Keating walked in, silencing Asher's shouts in an instant. She plucked Connor's phone from Asher's lowered hand, and went to hand it back to Connor. Before she did, she glimpsed the explicit pictures on the screen, merely raising her eyebrows in Connor's direction.

While Connor and Asher sat down, Annalise strode around the table to stand at the head. Bonnie, Frank and Wes followed in like a line of obedient ducks. Laurel and Michaela weren't present. It wasn't difficult to figure out where they were; and what they were doing.

Annalise began talking, once everybody had taken their seat. "I'm glad to see some of my workers know how to be punctual. I'll have to have a talk with Pratt and Castillo later. For now, progress reports. This needs to be quick, I have a meeting with a client in ten minutes. Walsh, you first."

Just as Connor stood up, a scrambling sound appeared at the door. Everyone in the room turned their heads to see Laurel and Michaela scuffling through the door to find their seats. After apologising for their tardiness, they sat down and busied themselves with their appearances. Michaela's blouse was crumpled and had been buttoned up wrong, whilst Laurel's hair cascaded around her face in wild curls, contrasting her usual look. The impish grins they passed each other every few seconds didn't help to make them appear less guilty. 

Annalise sighed, deliberately facing Connor while she scolded them. "See me in my office after this meeting, you two."

Connor smirked and continued. "So, my progress. You'll be pleased to hear that the project is advancing smoothly. I've become... well acquainted with the target, and I've definitely gained his trust. The relationship is moving fast, but it shouldn't be a problem. In fact, I was actually planning on surprising Oliver with lunch, so if you wouldn't mind?"

Annalise's mouth twitched, almost letting slip a smile. "How sweet of you. We'll update later, Walsh." Connor nodded and left the room, ignoring the knowing winks Asher was attempting to throw his way.

~~~

At quarter past twelve exactly, Oliver Hampton walked through the front doors of his office building. The way his face lit up when he saw Connor waiting for him made it hard for Connor not to grin back.

"Connor! What are you doing here?" Oliver reached him, a look of delight in his eyes when he saw the small bag and cups of coffee in Connor's hands. "Did you bring me lunch?"

"Yup. Surprise," Connor smirked. He pressed a kiss to Oliver's cheek, feeling it go warm under his lips as Oliver blushed. He handed him one of the coffee cups. 

"Wow, this is really nice. Thank you," Oliver said. He looked almost dazed, as if he wasn't sure if this was actually happening.

"You really should stop getting surprised when I do nice things, you're gonna have to accept that I like you," Connor smiled, linking his hand with Oliver's free one, holding both the coffee and the bag in his other hand. They started strolling. 

"You have half an hour for a lunch break, right? I figured I'd make it a bit less boring for you," Connor said. 

"Honestly, this is great. My usual lunch breaks consist of walking around the block a few times just to get away from my idiotic colleagues," Oliver said, taking a sip from his drink. His thumb traced light circles on Connor's hand as they walked. Though they'd only been seeing each other for less than a month - during which Connor had encouraged their relationship as much as possible, which meant holding hands - Connor had noticed Oliver often did that subconsciously. Connor couldn't help but find the habit endearing.

"Well that sounds dull. At least at the firm, the people I work with usually have some interesting stories," Connor smiled. 

Oliver laughed. His laugh was sweet, full of heart. "You're a lawyer. The people you work with are usually, you know, murderers, or something like that."

Connor's smile dampened slightly. "Yeah, something like that."

They continued their walk. Connor chose to lead them down a path that trailed the bank of a river, knowing Oliver would find it more romantic. The chill January air bit at them, but the sun still hung bright. The sunlight reflected off of Oliver's tanned face, making his skin glow. As they strolled, they shared bagels and coffee, exchanged stories of useless coworkers and complex cases. Oliver talked, and Connor listened, surprised to find that he actually _wanted_ to. He told himself that it was just his lack of good company. It's not like Asher was much of an exciting conversational partner.

Even after their coffees were finished and the bagels eaten, they kept walking, hands still joined, until Oliver received a text. It was his friend from work - Maya - who was reminding him that his break was over and that he was needed back at work. 

"Crap, I should get back," Oliver muttered quickly replying to the text. 

"I'll race you," Connor suggested, eyebrows raised. He knew this was probably a bit more serious, but he was in too good of a mood. Oliver just smiled at him and shook his head, but quickened his pace to beat Connor's on the way back to his building.

They arrived back at the dark glass doors less than five minutes later. A short woman, with dark skin and sharp eyes, stood waiting there. She introduced herself as Maya - Oliver's friend. Oliver introduced Connor.

"Maya, this is Connor, my, um..."

"Boyfriend," Connor cut in, shaking her hand and placing his other arm around Oliver's waist. "I understand you need him back right away, so I'll get going now."

Connor turned to Oliver's still shocked expression and kissed his confusion away. The kiss lasted longer than it should have, and was probably too intimate considering the woman tapping her foot impatiently next to them. But Connor didn't mind, and Oliver didn't seem to either.

Connor squeezed Oliver's hand gently, smiling. "I'll see you tonight, boyfriend."

He walked away, leaving a dazed Oliver to collect himself.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this mainly because I haven't written anything for this fic in a while (oops), so excuse any plot holes/mistakes. Hope you enjoy! Feel free to comment your thoughts so far, I'm open to criticism :)

The first thing Connor felt was the warmth of a hand resting on his lower back. He opened his eyes, slowly, relenting the morning light. 

The covers were gone, Connor's naked body exposed. He realised the warmth on his back was Oliver's hand. Oliver lay next to him, sleeping peacefully, his arm draped across Connor's back.

A chill danced across Connor's skin. He remembered the window in Oliver's room had been left open. After their activities last night, the room had needed to cool down. 

In the past few weeks, Connor had spent more time at Oliver's apartment than his own. He'd grown accustomed to the pale walls and artful vases decorating the space. He knew the fridge door needed a bit of extra force to close properly, and that the shower head worked better after it was hit a few times. A few of his shirts had even found their way into Oliver's drawers, and they hadn't been removed.

Although Connor would never say the words aloud, he had to admit he was beginning to enjoy this job. Of course, the sex and the hot guy and the money had all made the mission exciting in the first place; but what Connor now realised was that there were so many more benefits.

The freedom of being able to visit apartment 303 almost every afternoon, knowing that he was welcome. Receiving brief texts from Oliver at random times during the day, usually entailing little updates or jokes, that Connor open at work and get in trouble for, because he wasn't focused. Being close to someone who was completely and unabashedly _good_ , someone who didn't murder people for a living.

Connor noticed that he'd begun to genuinely look forward to time spent with Oliver, which was unusual for him. It was a rule of his to never become comfortable with the target, as it always made the job more difficult. 

However, this job specifically required a level of comfortability. Connor knew it would be a foreign feeling - to become close to someone he was destined to kill - and yet, he never expected it to be this jarring. Connor couldn't have foreseen the slowly building guilt that nagged at him every time Oliver said something sweet, or brought up family or careers. 

A couple of weeks ago, when they'd been curled up in bed after an exhausting hook up, Connor had mentioned that Oliver seemed in a particularly good mood. It turned out that Oliver had been told he might be getting a promotion soon. The moment Connor processed this - the fact that Oliver was ecstatic about the prospect of getting a promotion that he would never gain - he felt his throat close. Since then, the guilt had only grown worse, until it sprang up into Connor's mind with every thought of Oliver.

Oliver. Connor turned his head to watch the other man's closed eyelids, and his slightly parted lips. Connor turned over, so that Oliver's hand now rested on his stomach. He placed his own hand over Oliver's, the warmth soothing the once again present guilt. He knew that he shouldn't be doing this. He shouldn't allow himself to open up to Oliver, to become close in a way that the job didn't require. Connor knew that the guilt he felt was incorrect - as an assassin, guilt was the first thing you're trained to ignore. And yet, every time he heard Oliver's gentle, even breaths, his conscience burst into life and attacked his mind.

The thing that most intrigued Connor was the reason behind his guilt; or rather, the lack thereof. He couldn't bring to mind _why_ he actually felt bad about developing a relationship with Oliver, only to kill him. He'd tried taking a logical angle, but all he could conjure was that he might feel bad because he wasn't used to getting to know the target before assassinating them - it was much more personal. But that wasn't it.

Connor pondered over the issue again, his mind plagued with confusion. Just as the thoughts began to clamber over his mind, leading him down the trail of overthinking, his phone rang. He answered it before the noise woke Oliver.

"Hello?" Connor whispered.

"Walsh? Why are you being so quiet? Doesn't matter." It was Frank. "We need you down at base as quickly as possible. Gibbons needs some help on a case, and no one else is available."

"What makes you think I'm not busy?"

Frank huffed through the line. "Your definition of 'busy' nowadays is making heart eyes at your fake boyfriend. Get your ass down here."

Connor glanced at Oliver, still sleeping. For the millionth time, the guilt clawed at his chest. Oliver didn't deserve to be mocked like that; Frank had no right to treat him like some worthless facade. He was a _person._

Frank started to talk, his voice raised in anger at Connor's silence, but Connor hung up before he could hear what he had to say.

Connor turned his body to face Oliver's resting one. Connor lifted Oliver's hand in his own to lay softly by his lips, not quite touching. The movement stirred Oliver awake. His eyes opened, and his mouth spread to a smile. Connor smiled back.

"Morning Ollie," Connor said, voice still tame.

Oliver stretched slightly. "Morning. Where you just on the phone?"

"Yeah, but it was just work. My boss has given me the day off today. Something about sufficient progress being made for now," Connor said.

"Oh, okay," Oliver mumbled. His eyelids drooped slightly. Connor pressed his lips against each knuckle of Oliver's hand that was still resting by his face, bringing back Oliver's attention.

"I have an idea," Connor smiled.

"What's that?"

"Why don't you call in sick to work, and we can spend the day together," Connor said, placing another kiss to Oliver's hand, this time on his palm.

Oliver's cheeks lifted slightly. "Very funny."

"I'm serious," Connor said, moving to straddle Oliver's boxer-clad lap. He pressed his mouth to Oliver's cheek, then his neck, only grazing his teeth lightly against his skin. He felt Oliver's pulse quicken, ever so slightly.

"Surely, the idea of spending all day here with me is infinitely more tempting than dealing with idiotic colleagues who don't know how to run a computer," Connor said, voice low. He had Oliver's gaze captured in his, and his fingers were trailing lazily down Oliver's chest. 

"Not that you're that great with computers," Oliver smirked, as if he knew how devastatingly attractive that made him in Connor's eyes. 

Connor's mouth lifted into a wide grin, laughing as he pressed his lips to Oliver's. Oliver kissed him back, releasing a small moan when Connor caught his lower lip in his teeth.

"Fine, you got me," Oliver murmured. Then he smiled. "I'll call in sick. There are much better things to be doing than work."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm.. I'm not even sure where I'm going with this fic anymore.. I have an ending planned, but I don't think the tea of it's going well :/ At this point, Connor's basically feeling guilty about Oliver (which of course Connor doesn't realise is him actually being in love w Ollie). If anyone's still reading this, I greatly appreciate it, and any comments would be great. Hope you enjoy!

Shelves of jewel-encrusted watches stretched out before Connor's eyes. He walked along the rows, browsing the many options. The store was silent, the few other customers engrossed in their shopping.

All of them were decorated with various jewels and designer attire. Connor knew he looked just like them; he was dressed head to foot in sleek, expensive brands. But he didn't feel like one of them. He felt like some sort of omnipresent being, hanging over the room, watching all these empty, well-dressed shells. Including him.

Connor could guarantee that none of these people were spending hard-earned money, but he was also sure that none of them were spending money they'd earned by killing a man.

The payment for Annalise's husband had had some issues, so it came through several months late. With that check in his pocket - made by Keating Associates - he intended to buy the best watch possible. For Oliver.

It was his boyfriend's birthday tomorrow. Boyfriend? Was that was Oliver was? Connor tried to avoid this topic in his mind, but he couldn't help thinking of it now. 

Technically, he and Oliver were dating. They slept together. They told each other they missed each other. Connor's phone wallpaper was a picture of Oliver, smiling wide, his glasses slipping down his face. The picture had been taken by Connor a couple of weeks ago on a date, in a moment of pure ignorance; when their relationship felt real, and loving. 

Then Connor had been dragged back to reality - and for a blinding moment, he'd missed it. He felt a part of his chest cave, crushing under the weight of wanting to have Oliver like he pretended to. That feeling hadn't left.

The lights illuminating the watches on display hurt his eyes. Connor felt sick. His breaths were short. The guilt was clinging to him again, combining with the crushing feeling of wanting Oliver. It was all he could do to stand. 

A smiling woman appeared next to him, offering assistance. He smiled back and told her he was shopping for his boyfriend; that he only wanted the best watch. She smiled brighter and led him to a display case. The watches it held were tagged with numbers too long for his mind to process properly. 

The woman pointed out the most valuable watches - the most expensive ones, obviously. Connor chose the one with the highest price and quickly paid, wanting to get out of the store as soon as he could manage. He needed to see Oliver; alive and happy. As if seeing Oliver not dead would distract Connor from the fact that he would be soon enough.

~

The door to apartment 303 swung open. Connor saw a beaming Oliver, and breathed. 

"Happy Birthday, Ollie."

The expression Oliver wore was one of complete disbelief. He gazed at the watch Connor handed him. It was dark and elegant and Connor knew it would look amazing on Oliver. Oliver was seemingly more distracted by the label on the box.

"Oh my _god_ , Connor, this is amazing. This is an amazing watch. And expensive. How the hell did you afford this?"

Oliver's eyes were rapidly moving between the watch and Connor's face - for a moment, Connor just admired the adoring look.

"I've been saving up awhile. Being a lawyer doesn't pay too bad, either."

"I mean.. wow.." Oliver brought him in for a kiss, and kept him close. The light in his eyes was brilliant. "Your really didn't have to spend this much money on me. How am I ever supposed to thank you for this?"

"Oliver, it's your birthday. Really, I just wanted to make the man I love happy."

Oliver paused. He looked at Connor. Connor blinked. _Crap_. He didn't mean to say that. 

"You.. you love me?" The shocked look on Oliver's face when Connor had presented the watch was nothing compared to his face at that moment.

Connor's lips lifted into a smile, almost instinctively. He felt lighter. "Yeah. Yeah, I love you."

Oliver grinned back, and kissed him again, slower this time. He pulled back slightly to whisper, "I love you too."

~

The TV played on, but the sound barely registered with Connor. He lay curled up on the couch, next to a sleeping Oliver. Neither of them were wearing clothes, but Oliver's body next to his was warm.

Connor had to remind himself of that. Oliver's body wasn't just warm; it was alive. Oliver was alive - he had a beating heart and flowing blood, he breathed and blinked. Less than an hour ago, he'd been moaning with every thrust of Connor's hips. 

Connor didn't need to feel guilty. He never did; he had a job, and he fulfilled it. Oliver should be no different.

So why did he feel terrible? Why was he beginning to use feeble excuses to miss progress updates?

Why was confessing his love to Oliver the most sincere thing he's done since the beginning of this project?

Not for the first time, the guilt clawed through his chest and towards his throat. Connor waited for the feeling of suffocating to follow, and when it did, he just let it. There was no point fighting the current once it's already carried you away.

Somewhere beneath his panic, the logical, trained part of him questioned what was happening. It just didn't make sense. He never felt guilty about killing a target; he just did it. While he'd definitely suffered from anxiety before, that part of him strangely never bled into his job. He didn't understand the torrent of emotions that followed every thought of Oliver, which worried him even more.

Connor's breaths grew thinner, stirring the man next to him. Once Oliver's eyes were open, they quickly widened when he saw Connor in a frantic state. 

"Shit, Con, are you okay? What's wrong?" Oliver's voice rose slightly with concern. His hands met Connor's arms with a reassuring grip.

"Um, yeah, yeah, no I just... I'm a bit hot. It's really hot in here," Connor breathed out. It wasn't his best lie, but it was better than admitting he was on the verge of a guilt-induced breakdown.

"Right, do you want me to give you some space? It probably doesn't help that we're so... crowded," Oliver suggested.

Connor looked at him and saw genuine worry. Oliver didn't even question Connor's panic, he just set out to help. 

"Connor?"

"No, no stay. It's fine. I'll be okay," Connor said, with more desperation than he'd care to admit. He noticed he was clinging to Oliver's arm with one hand, though he wasn't aware of when he'd grabbed it. 

Connor lay back again, pulling Oliver down with him. Oliver's arms remained wrapped around his chest. Connor actually was beginning to feel the heat, but he was content in Oliver's embrace. It was quietly comforting. 

Connor's heart slowed, and his eyes fluttered closed. Anxious feelings lingered, but they didn't get in. A soft haze settled over Connor, who could finally relax, alongside an already sleeping Oliver.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After this chapter, shit starts happening, trust me. A massive thank you to anyone still reading this, means a lot! If you want, leave me a comment saying what you think (always open to criticism)!
> 
> (Unbeta'd)

As a result of years worth of relentless training as an assassin, Connor was wired to pay attention to everyone and everything. Most of the time, it was rare for him to miss something, or to ignore something. The only exception, of course, was Frank. 

Connor had tuned out the second Frank had cut in to stand behind him in the line for food. Since then he'd been droning on endlessly - something about beard maintenance, probably. Connor couldn't find it in himself to pretend to care.

While Frank continued, Connor surveyed the room. He didn't usually stay at Base to eat, but he needed to find Michaela. There was some important information Connor needed to stare, and Michaela was the closest he had to a friend. She wasn't here.

That was when Connor heard Oliver's name. He turned, expression made of steel, and frowned when he heard why that name was leaving Frank's mouth.

 

"... I'm thinking you slit his throat. It's a classic. Plus, it'll hurt. Then again, that'll just create way too much mess.."

Connor's eyes narrowed, and it took all of his willpower to not pick up the knife from his tray and plunge it into Frank's stomach.

Instead of replying to Frank's murderous rant, Connor just took two deep breaths, and prepared to walk away.

"Maybe you should, like, torture him first. The client wanted it to painful, right? So--"

The tray in Connor's hands met Frank's face with a loud snap, drawing the room's attention to the spot.

Blood dripped from Frank's nose to the pile of Connor's lunch on the floor. Frank's fists visibly clenched, and he raised his eyes to glare at Connor. He looked seconds away from committing a murder right there.

People were beginning to circle the two men. Considering the Base was brimming with trained fighters and the most intelligent teams available, none of them knew how to react to a fellow assassin actually being hurt. They all swarmed around Frank and began cleaning up the blood, while Connor slipped away unseen. 

He needed to find Michaela.

~~~

"Michaela - I just - Frank --"

"I know, I heard." She took his arm in her firm but gentle grip and guided him through the cold corridors where she'd found him, out of the building, away from the crowd. "It's okay. We need to get you somewhere else."

They arrive at a packed coffee shop. Connor realises they're a few blocks away from Base, but doesn't recall the journey. Thoughts tumble through his mind in no order, distracting him. Frank. Michaela. Food. Blood. Oliver.

The second Michaela drags him the doors, a wave of clamouring conversation hits him. The place was overflowing with customers, standing and sitting, swirling around him. It was almost too much for his already anxious mind to handle.

Michaela found a seat almost in the centre of the chaos, and sat Connor next to her. Her face was set in an intense look of concern, and she wouldn't take her hand off his shoulder. Connor was kind of relieved by that; it was the only thing grounding him.

"Okay - Connor, can you hear me?" Michaela was trying to catch his distracted gaze. "What has been up with you? You've been skipping out on work, you've been avoiding my texts, and now you attack one of Annalise's main men with a lunch tray?"

Connor exhaled. "Okay, um, I know, Michaela. I've been... busy. I, um, actually need to tell you something. Important." His palms were slick with sweat. Connor didn't really understand his nervousness - his job might be at risk, but he didn't really care. He had Michaela with him; all he had to do was tell her, and the anxiety haunting him would go away.

"I'm gonna be honest. I, I have a problem. And I need your help, Michaela."

She pursed her lips, waiting.

"I think I'm in love with Oliver."

He paused, and waited for this massive weight to lift from his shoulders and to see it burden hers. He hadn't wanted to trouble her with this, but he had needed to tell someone. He was expecting gasps, shock, something. But Michaela just smiled. 

Connor's frown deepened as her laugh grew.

"Are you serious, Connor? You had this super important thing to tell me, and you're saying it's something everyone's known for months?"

"What do you mean everyone's known for months?"

"Connor. Come on. Don't tell me you don't see it, because literally every one else does."

"But - I, okay, not important. The point is, I'm in love with him and I'm not supposed to be. I can't be." Connor's voice battled to be heard over the chatter in the shop. Michaela still had a lingering smile on her face. 

"Connor--"

"I can't love him. I can't. I'm not supposed to feel fluttery when he smiles. I can't want to sacrifice the world for him. When I kiss him and tell him I love him, it's supposed to be fake, but it isn't." He stopped himself, breathless.

Michaela's smile turned sympathetic. "It's okay, Connor. That's normal. You're allowed to be in love."

"Not with him. Not with the man I'm supposed to kill. Fuck, I just can't stop feeling guilty.."

"Connor. Stop. You love Oliver, right? You'd do anything to protect him. You know that now. The only reason you feel so guilty is because you know that you're the thing he needs protecting from."

The din of the coffee shop lessened slightly, as the customers left to get back to their workplaces. As it became quieter, realised Connor his mind wasn't racing - for the first time in weeks, he wasn't overthinking, or panicking.

"So I feel bad. What can I do about it? It doesn't change the fact that I'm supposed to kill the man I love in a few weeks time."

Michaela sat up straight. Her face settled into a calm, controlled expression.

"It does change things. It's your job to kill him, but that doesn't mean you have to."


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate writing about Ollie being in danger. But, this chapter (and more the next chapter) are going to feature that :/ Also, if it seems in any way like I'm demonising Annalise here, I'm not, it's just she's the boss (like she is in canon) and therefore makes all the unpleasant decisions..
> 
> On that note, hope you enjoy! Once again, any comments are very welcome :)

Tomorrow. One more day. That's how long Oliver had left to live.

Supposedly. But Connor couldn't do it. He just knew it. Ending a person's life in an efficient and practical way was what he did for a living. When he'd taken he mission, he knew how it would end. And yet, he couldn't comprehend the thought of Oliver even getting a _paper cut_ , let alone dying a violent death. By Connor's hand.

He couldn't kill Oliver.

Oliver, who was strolling ahead through the grocery store aisles. They were in the baked goods section. Oliver had always had excellent self control - one of the endless qualities that Connor loved and admired about him - but when it came to Connor, Oliver was helpless. He stopped by the Girl Scout branded cookies and piled several boxes into the trolley. He knew they were Connor's favourite.

Even though they didn't technically live together, Connor spent almost every second of his available time at apartment 303. His own landlord had been chasing him for weeks for rent, but he often just avoided his calls and went to 303, where Oliver would kiss away his stresses. 

Connor had woken up that morning to Oliver bustling around the bedroom, ready to pop out for groceries. He'd told Connor to stay while he went out, but Connor had insisted on joining him. At the time, Connor hadn't even hesitated. Upon reflection, Connor realised he should have used that time to pack up his belongings and wipe away every trace of himself from Oliver's apartment. He needed to leave. He needed Oliver to be free of the burden that weighed down Connor's every step.

But as Connor looked at Oliver now - buried in his decision between curly fries or skinny chips - he realised that he couldn't leave Oliver. Not for the morning, or for any longer. Staying with him would endanger him, but leaving him alone would only give him heartbreak and a bigger risk than ever.

Oliver turned to him and smiled his life-saving smile. "What do you think, curly or skinny?"

Connor closed to distance between them and rested his chin on Oliver's shoulder. He pressed a kiss to his warm cheek, not giving a single thought to other shoppers. "Up to you, Ollie."

After they'd made their decisions and paid, they brought the food home. They put it all away. Then Oliver cooked lunch - because Connor was adamant that his own cooking skills were non existent - and they ate on the couch, legs tucked together. They binged their way through another couple of episodes of Mr.Robot. It was a weekend, so neither of them had any obligations, but Connor had some extra work to complete. He didn't do it. 

Instead, Connor slipped his hands under Oliver's shirt, and kissed and sucked at his neck, and then they wound up naked on the couch. The bedroom was too far.

An hour after that, they found themselves curled up on the couch. Oliver was asleep. It was the same comforting, normal situation they always ended up in, and Connor revelled in it. 

Though a storm was forecast for that night, the gentle late afternoon light cast a beautiful beam onto Oliver's face, like some kind of angelic spotlight. Connor lay next to him, gazing. Oliver really was beautiful. 

Then Oliver's shirt became drenched in a rich red, leaking from his sliced throat at an alarming rate. The red was flowing out of his mouth too, and it dripped from his eyes. Connor's heart splintered and snapped, as he frantically reached for Oliver's throat. To close the wound. To do something. 

Oliver just mumbled at him and snuggled closer. Connor realised his shirt and throat were clear of wounds or blood. He'd imagined it.

"I can't. I can't do it. I-I can't - I can't do it.."

The words tumbled out of Connor's mouth without intention, or meaning. He couldn't hear himself, but he knew the words were there. 

He found himself out the door, in his car, starting the engine. The only thing his brain really registered was Oliver, who he'd left sleeping on the couch. But he would be okay. He had to be. Connor would make this okay. That's what he had to do.

The grey cement walls of Base loomed before him. Even against the brewing sky, the building looked menacingly dark. He parked and walked through the front doors, ignoring the security guards lunging at him. Although he was one of the most important assassins here, they still needed confirmation every time someone walked in. The secret headquarters of an assassin company were unsurprisingly distrustful.

Within seconds, minutes, hours, who could tell, Connor was at Annalise's door. If he weren't so focused on his task, he would've stopped to relish the moment he burst into the room without invitation. 

Annalise was stood next to her desk, Frank seated on the edge of the wood. The were in the midst of a heated discussion, judging by the shared irritated expression. Connor didn't give a shit.

Frank stood. Annalise spoke, as composed as ever. "Walsh, I don't know what you think you're doi--"

"Stop."

Annalise's eyebrows dipped. Frank practically snarled. The look was made even uglier by the bruise darkening his broken nose. 

Connor had expected the shackles of anxiety to have dragged him down deep enough to cave by now, but still he stood. 

His hands were loose. His heart beat more rapidly, but it wasn't out of fear, it was out of exhilaration. He was finally breaking free of the only shackles actually holding him back.

"I'm not doing it."

Annalise took two steps forward, bringing her to meet Connor's eyes up close. Her gaze held a ferocious fire, but her words remained as cold and compact as ice.

"You're not doing what."

"I'm not killing Oliver. I don't care if it's my job, I'm not doing it. Fire me if you want, or send someone after me, but by then I'll be gone." As he said the words, the guilt's claws finally released their grip, and he could breathe.

His boss's heals tilted slightly. "That's a dangerous move, Walsh. What makes you think it's worth it? You don't think you're earning enough? Are the hours not satisfactory?"

He squared his shoulders, standing taller to emphasise the fact that Annalise has to look up slightly at him. "Because I refuse to kill the man I love. And you're insane if you think you can convince me or blackmail me to do that."

She smiled. It was a rare sight, but even Connor could tell it was genuine. 

"I'm not one to stand between true love." She turned and walked back to her desk, where she sat. "You can leave. I won't send anyone after you, you're not stupid enough to say anything. Right, Connor?"

He tried not to flinch at the sound of his first name in Annalise's voice. It was eerily unfamiliar. Then he matched her smile with one of his own.

"Right, Annalise."

~~~

As he left the building, Connor grinned. He wasn't often a person that grins, but he couldn't help it. Nobody even glanced at him as he left, but he didn't care enough to be worried about how odd that was.

He was free. Finally. The heaviest curse in his life - that he didn't even know existed before now - was lifted. And most importantly; Oliver would be okay. 

Oliver would be okay. He'd stay breathing. He'd stay smiling. He'd still be able to wake up every morning, and go to work, and complain about how boring his job was. He'd get to laugh, and sleep, and cheer and cry. Oliver gets to live.

There was a part of Connor that acknowledged that he'd have to leave Oliver and never see him again, but Connor pushed that part down. After the way he'd just upended his life, the way he'd just changed everything, he couldn't just go back to Oliver. It'd only bring the danger to him. And Connor couldn't let that happen.

As he turned a corner, his car came into view. Connor reached it as he rain drops began to glisten on the black metal. 

He didn't have an umbrella. Or spare clothes. Technically, all he had was the outfit he was wearing, his car and car keys, and a packet of mints. All of his possessions were at Oliver's. Few of his belongings were at his own apartment. 

He almost laughed at the sad irony; everything he had belonged to Oliver, including himself.

Before he could think too much about the man he was leaving behind, he unlocked the car. 

Then his phone rang.

It was Michaela.

"Connor - you need to get to Oliver, _now_."

~~~

"Michaela! What the hell is happening?"

He heard a frantic shush. 

"Michaela will you just--"

" _Shut up_!" The words were whispered, but he had no doubt she wouldn't be yelling if she could. Background conversation crackled through the line, then slowly faded. 

"Okay, I had to get away from everyone," Michaela said, voice still low.

"Why? What's going on? Is Ollie okay?"

He heard a panicked breath. 

"After you walked out, Frank started yelling. Everyone could hear him, he was shouting about how you just walked out and refused to kill Oliver."

Eyebrows furrowed, Connor tried not shout. "I know he's pissed Michaela, I was expecting that."

"That's not the problem."

The line crackled again as people moved past her, while she waited with audibly bated breath. 

"The problem is Annalise. Frank as adamant that the job had to be done, or it'd damage our reputation and pay."

Connor's hand clenched on the wet car door handle. He hadn't moved since she'd called. The rain came in vicious flurries now, relentless.

"Michaela, _what are you telling me_."

"Frank's going to do the job for you. I saw him leave a few minutes ago." She paused. Connor pleaded silently for the next words out of her mouth to be something, anything but -

"He's going to kill Oliver."


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter!! This was longer than intended - I was tempted to post it in 2 parts at the same time, but figures it'd detract from the tension I was attempting to create.. Anyway, hope you enjoy! Thanks to anyone still reading this - leave a comment telling me what you think, I love seeing them :)
> 
> (Unbeta'd, as always)

For the first time in Connor's life, he wasn't worried about the rain. 

It fell in bruising sheets, louder than the thunder echoing in the sky. The noise wrapped around his car, beat at his ears. But he barely paid attention.

The barely audible crackle of Michaela's voice sounded from his phone, which he'd thrown in the car haphazardly after Michaela delivered the news. She was still talking. Connor didn't care. All he needed to know was that Oliver was in danger and he had to help him and Frank was there and -

Oliver.

Connor reached to the far side of the passenger seat to grab his phone. It took him a few frantic seconds, but be found it. He opened it and called Oliver's number without even needing to look at the screen. 

Really, he shouldn't be foolish enough to expect anything. The dial tones sounded again and again, and with each one Connor's heart collapsed, harder than before. The noises blurred and became indistinguishable in the mess of sound whirling around him.

Then he heard Oliver's voice - for a brief, miraculous moment, his voice was there and happy and unbroken - but then Connor realised it was his voicemail. _Hi, it's Oliver, sorry I can't answer the phone right now-_ Connor threw the phone away from him and his instincts were the only thing stopping him from ripping the wheel from the dashboard and smashing the window with it.

This was Connor's fault. He should never have done it. How could he have possibly have thought that defying Annalise would be a good idea? Now she'd sent her mindless pit bull to end the life of the one person Connor truly cared about. _And it was all Connor's fucking fault._

He should have just run away - and brought Oliver with him. They should have just packed up and left, moved to another country and lived happily ever after. Even if Oliver would've had to find out about Connor's job, he didn't care, because Oliver loves him and it would've been okay.

Horns screeched at him as he swerved past a speeding police car. He cursed. The pummelling rain combined with stinging tears made the road difficult to see. Connor released a hysterical laugh. He'd probably crash and die before he reached Oliver at all.

~~~

By the time Connor was gasping for breath at the top of Oliver's apartment building stairs, the sky had fallen into a writhing ocean of lightening and rain. 

He reached the door emblazoned with 303. 

No screams. That was good. 

_Breathe, Connor._

He slammed open the door. When he saw the scene transpiring in the apartment, he almost fainted. For more reasons than one.

Oliver was alive. 

_Oliver's alive._ Standing. Breathing. But breathing shallowly.

Frank had Oliver pressed close to his face, with a knife between them. They were in the centre of the room. The metal against Oliver's skin glistened with an abnormal wetness. Connor noticed the tears falling from Oliver's eyes to the blade at his throat.

Connor forced his weak legs to move. One step. Another, and another until he was close to Oliver but then Frank's fist found his gut, and he was flung back, away from Oliver.

From his newfound place on the floor, Connor saw Frank laugh, and bunch his hand tighter in Oliver's collar, holding him even more painfully. Oliver winced. Then he let out a whimper.

The room blurred red as Connor launched himself up and at Frank - ignoring the pain in his gut, ignoring the tears in his eyes - but he was greeted with Frank's knuckles to his face.

Blood sprayed and suddenly Connor's mouth filled with the taste of copper. The red around his vision became real, as his blood soaked his face and shirt.

"No- Con--"

Oliver's cries were silenced with a violent shake from Frank. The bearded devil still laughed, then spat at Connor, who'd dropped to his knees in agony.

Then he started talking. Gloating.

"Good to see you, Walsh. I'm sure Oliver here would be running to you with open arms, if he wasn't in, you know, a bit of a situation," Frank laughed. Oliver let out a broken sob, and made a weak attempt to push away. Frank just tightened his grip. "Also there's the fact that I told him. He must hate you."

Connor spat blood and advanced, hands fisted.

"Ah ah ah! Don't come near. Remember, I just haven't killed your boo here yet for the sake of taunting you. I'm almost glad you showed up before I cut his throat actually, it's much more fun. Take a step closer, and you'll see your boyfriend's throat open up right here."

Connor stopped.

He breathed. Wiped away the tears and blood mixing on his face. He made himself raise his hands, stop walking, and take a step back.

When Connor spoke, he tried to contain the break in his voice. He failed. "Ollie, please tell me you're okay. Has he hurt you?"

Oliver didn't respond. He just scrunched his eyes, spreading tears in an attempt to make them vanish.

Connor turned to Frank, ignoring his heart shattering inside him at Oliver's silence. "What do you mean you told him? W-what did you do, Frank?"

Another grating laugh left Frank's lips. "I told him everything. That you're an assassin. A murderer. That he was supposed to become just another pay check for you. How you suddenly decided to be a good person and not go through with it, but it was all worth shit because _I'm_ gonna finish the job."

Connor saw Oliver's eyes close again. Not to rid of tears, but to avoid Connor's desperate gaze. 

Without even glancing at Frank's smug face, Connor pleaded to the man he loved. He couldn't move closer, so he lowered his shaking hands to hold them out in front of him. 

"O-Ollie-Oliver, listen, please, I love you. Okay? I love you, so _goddamn_ much I swear, and I don't know why the hell I thought I could ever k-kill you, but there's no way I would ever do that now. I quit the job. I told Annalise I couldn't do it. And I meant it. Because I love you. I'm not expecting you to forgive me, but please understand that I would never hurt you, Ollie, ever."

By the end of his speech, Connor's throat had almost failed him, but he still stared intently at Oliver. He had to something. He had to show some sign that he understood Connor.

But he just opened his eyes and stared at Frank's hands, face hardened to a grimace. The last remains of hope belonging to Connor drained from him. 

While Frank's head turned to grin at Connor to relish his despair, Oliver moved swiftly to grab Frank's knife-wielding arm with one hand, and plunged the other into Frank's stomach. 

Frank fell back a step with the impact of the punch, but was back seconds later, with a malicious growl. 

Just as Oliver tried to get away, Frank grabbed his hand with a grip of steel and ran the blade across Oliver's cheek. Blood poured from the wound. Connor watched as Oliver withheld a scream, and instead attempted to battle his way out of Frank's hands. It wouldn't work - Frank was too strong.

But Frank was winded now. He took heavier breaths, and released a grunt every other step. As he struggled with Oliver and went to punch, Connor saw his opportunity open up.

With a sudden surge of energy, Connor lunged forward and ducked beneath Frank's swinging arm. He shoved his shoulder against solid ribs and felt the dense man repulse in pain. 

Oliver moved back as Frank recovered and went to punch Connor. But Connor had already picked up on his patterns, and recognised that Frank's free hand fell away as he swung. Before Frank's hand could find it's target, Connor stepped in and grabbed his loose spare hand, then twisted his hip, sending Frank flying over him. The agonised yell that accompanied it brought a grin to Connor's face.

From where Frank lay on the floor, lip split and shirt reddened, he started laughing again. Connor kneeled next to him and plucked the knife from where it had fallen nearby. He pressed the metal against Frank's throat, too hard for Frank to breathe with ease.

"What the hell is so funny? I don't know if you've noticed, but you're the one on the floor." Connor's voice came out like steel.

"Ah, ow - I just think it's amusing how you think that killing me is going to win back your man. Oliver's got _some_ standards, I'm sure."

Connor hesitated, then let out a cruel laugh of his own.

"I'm not going to kill you, Frank. I'm just gonna make sure you don't forget the pain you've inflicted on Oliver. Because you deserve some scars."

Frank barely had time to frown before Connor lifted the knife and whacked the hilt into the man's temple. Frank's consciousness left him. Then, using the blade, Connor cut off half the man's moustache, giving Frank an oddly naked look.

He heard a breathless laugh behind him.

"Oh thank God, I thought you were gonna cut out his eye or something. _God_ , Connor, I'm shaking," Oliver said, voice trembling.

Connor stood to face him. 

"Listen, Oliver--"

"I know. I know that you're sorry, and you'd never hurt me, and that you hate yourself for ever even getting that job. I know." He looked solemn, but not angered. He was crying freely now. Strangely, Connor didn't know what to say - Oliver had just cited the exact words he'd planned on speaking.

"I don't hate you." 

Connor looked at him. There was truly no rage there, no disgust. 

"If that's what you think. I don't hate you. I, um, I'm going to need to adjust to this, but I don't want this to be the last time I see you. In case you were going to run off or something."

Connor dropped the knife. It clanged next to Frank's unmoving body. His face was mostly numb now - he was unsure where he'd been hit, but the flow of blood had lessened. He was aware that he probably looked like he'd just crawled out of hell, but he smiled nonetheless. Connor smiled, softly, and Oliver returned it.

Before it really registered with him what's he was doing, Connor crossed to Oliver and stood close to him. The need to kiss him was dizzyingly overwhelming, but he resisted, and instead he reached for Oliver's clenched hands and unwound them. Connor kept his hands there.

Though Oliver was shaking still, the look of relief on his face somehow alleviated Connor's worry, and made this all okay. Everything was okay, because Oliver was safe. 

"Ollie, I swear I'm so sorry for everything I didn't tell you, if--"

Oliver cut him off by wrapping his arms tightly around him. His head tucked into Connor's neck, and Connor felt blood and tears stain his already ruined clothes, but he didn't care. He hugged Oliver back. It wasn't a kiss, but it was Oliver, and that was all Connor ever needed. 

For a moment, the room was only filled with subdued sniffs and easy silence. The tension that had laced the air minutes ago was gone, and replaced by the pure, unadulterated sense of everything being finally _okay _.__

__" _Thank you_ ," Oliver whispered, interrupting the silence._ _

__" _And I love you, too, Connor_."_ _

__

___~~~~~~~~_  
_6 years later_  
~~~~~~~~ 

__

__"I love you, Con. Which is why I refuse to let you end your speech with a joke."_ _

__Connor sprang into a prepared defence - he'd known Oliver wouldn't accept the idea of a joke to end his best man speech, so he'd harnessed his lawyer talents to prepare an argument._ _

__"Firstly, the joke I have planned is more than a mere joke, it is an intricately designed inside joke, that traces back years --"_ _

__"Con. No."_ _

__Connor sank into the passenger seat, sulking. After all these years, Oliver still found that pout adorable. Then Connor yawned - thanks to the early hour - and ruined the whole expression. Oliver smiled as he switched lanes._ _

__"Can I at least ask Michaela? Or Laurel? It's their wedding, they should be able to decide what I say."_ _

__"Con."_ _

__"You haven't even heard the joke. It's good. It's very clever."_ _

__Oliver sighed. He could see where this going, and hated the fact that he couldn't resist being amused at Connor's insistence._ _

__"Fine. What's the joke?"_ _

__"So after I've made this big emotional speech, I raise my glass and say..." Connor sat up and drummed the dashboard for suspense. "You two have the kind of love that some people would kill for!"_ _

__Oliver descended into laughter. Connor grinned. It always delighted him to see Oliver laugh that hard because of him._ _

__Oliver looked at him momentarily, eyes off the road. "Seriously? A reference to your assassin days? That's just.. why would you want to bring that up on their wedding day?"_ _

__"It'll be a laugh! Laurel and Michaela would get it."_ _

__"I would've gone with a lawyer joke. Because, you know, that's what you are now. Not an assassin."_ _

__Connor faltered. He linked his hand with Oliver's free one that wasn't on the wheel, tracing his thumb over the skin absentmindedly. "I know. Sorry. I just figured we could make it a joke, considering it's completely in the past, you know?"_ _

__Oliver squeezed his hand lightly. "Maybe it should stay there." Then he smiled. "Although, I would've gone with 'you two make a killer couple'."_ _

__Connor cursed, then gave in to laughter. Before long, Oliver joined him._ _

__They drove for a little longer, then left the motorway and entered the town where Laurel and Michaela were to finally wed the next day. It was a tranquil little place; a few smiling people strolled around, and the pale buildings seemed to glow in the early morning light._ _

__Connor looked at their linked hands on the console. For the millionth time, he admired the way his and Oliver's matching rings shone in the light. They always looked especially good paired together._ _

__He spoke softly, feeling he shouldn't disturb the peaceful town, "Do you think their wedding will be better than ours was?"_ _

__Oliver matched his smile. "It'd be tough."_ _

__They both knew that, in their minds at least, nothing would ever top their wedding. A week after the night six years ago, when Connor's past job had been revealed and Oliver's life drastically changed, Oliver had invited Connor to coffee. Before Connor had even walked through the door, Oliver's lips were on his. Oliver confessed that he would readily forgive Connor, as long as he never did anything like that again, and from then they were a couple in love once again._ _

__It didn't take long for them to pack up and move away like Connor had dreamed all along. A year later, they were living happily together in Rome. One more year, it was Paris. Then they returned to America where Connor received a law education, and Oliver finally got an IT job worthy of his skills. On the very last day of that same year, Connor proposed at the park he'd taken Oliver out to lunch at years before._ _

__Since then, they'd been through house-buying, a small and intimate wedding with few guests, several job promotions and a million domestic moments. Connor and Oliver loved every single bit of it, but their wedding was the best._ _

__That day had been bliss. The ceremony took place in a small chapel, near where Oliver had grown up. Michaela, Laurel and even Wes had been reunited with Connor, after years of Connor laying low. Both of their families were present, but not many other people. It was simple and perfect and just for them; exactly how they wanted it to be._ _

__Connor glanced at their hands again, still joined. He felt a familiar tide of emotion; he'd become prone to them since the day he met Oliver, he'd realised. Before he could well up at the memories filling his mind, he spoke up._ _

__"The food'll be good though. Wedding receptions always have the best buffets."_ _

__"Maybe we can sneak food from the buffet. I wouldn't usually, but it'll be fancy wedding food, so, it'd be rude to not really," Oliver suggested, smirking. He looked absurdly good with a smirk on his lips, Connor noted._ _

__"God, could I have a better husband?" Connor smiled._ _

__Oliver squeezed his hand again. His ring glinted. "Nah, you're pretty lucky."_ _

__Once again, Connor's eyes threatened to well up. This time he just let them. "Yeah. I mean, lucky, sure. I would personally say that, in any of the million universes that exist, some kind of miracle must have been performed for me to end up in the one where I got to marry you."_ _

__Oliver looked at him for a moment again. His eyes were as radiant as his beaming smile. "This universe is my favourite too, you sap."_ _

__They drove on, smiling with the vigour of newly lovesick idiots, hands linked like the old married couple they were destined to be._ _

__In his mind, Connor thanked the miracle that placed him in this universe. Despite how he'd met Oliver, despite the job he'd carried around on his shoulders, despite the magnificent amount of stress it had brought to both their lives - he still thanked the miracle._ _

__Because without all that mess, Connor wouldn't have been given the most serendipitous, miraculous blessing possible - the man he'd give his life for. Oliver Hampton-Walsh._ _

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: makers-manhattan


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